


An odd thing to do to perfectly good nuts

by MToddWebster (RembrandtsWife)



Series: Your Shape in the Doorway [7]
Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician)
Genre: Genderqueer Character, Holidays, Long-Distance Relationship, Other, Phone Calls & Telephones, Thanksgiving, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RembrandtsWife/pseuds/MToddWebster
Summary: The kind of Thanksgiving we'd all like to have right now: A peaceful dinner with family and a phone call from our goofy boyfriend Andrew.
Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/You
Series: Your Shape in the Doorway [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1839052
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	An odd thing to do to perfectly good nuts

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I have no excuse. I will just say that this series takes place a few years ahead of the present day, in a post-pandemic universe. 
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving, American readers.

The call comes just as the clean-up from dinner begins. It’s tradition that everyone helps to clear the table after holiday meals; your mom stands at the sink, scraping plates and loading the dishwasher, and then your dad serves dessert. You’ve cleared your own place and your mom’s, so you don’t feel guilty about nipping off to the upstairs bathroom with your phone.

“Hello?”

“Happy Turkey Day!” says a familiar voice in a terrible, fake American accent.

“Oh my god!” You clap your hand over your mouth to smother the hoots of laughter; the last thing you want is for one of your niblings to track you down and start asking questions about “your boyyyyyyyfriend”. Andrew chortles over the phone, having apparently gotten the reaction he wanted. 

“How’s it going, love?”

As always, your face heats up pleasantly at the endearment. “It’s fine, it’s good. We all stuffed ourselves like pigs and we were just clearing the table for dessert when you called. I can talk for a few minutes.”

“Who all is there?” He sounds genuinely interested, so you name off everyone present and explain how everyone is related to anyone else.

“Shite, I’d need to write that down and keep checking me phone to be sure of it. But there’s plenty of big families in Ireland, just not mine.” He chuckles. “What’s your dessert, then?”

You laugh at his ever-present sweet tooth. “Pumpkin pie, pecan pie, and a German chocolate cake.”

“Jaysus.” He sounds admiring. “Well, eat a bit for me, right?”

“I’ll bet you’ve never had pumpkin or pecan pie.”

“Pumpkin, no. I did have some pecan pie once while I was touring. Good stuff, but still, seemed like an odd thing to do to perfectly good nuts, packing them in sugar like that.”

You pause for a moment, thinking you hear someone coming up the stairs, but the coast remains clear. “So how’s the recording going?”

Andrew is ready with details about that, so you know it’s going well. It’s the early stages of a new album; he and Alex Ryan are laying down the first tracks, vocals, guitar, bass, some percussion. He has plans to work with some new people on the album, which seems to be true for every album. For all that it’s just his name on the drumkits and the marquees and the posters, he loves collaborating with people to make music. He might even get Anuna to record with him on this album, if he’s lucky.

“That’s great! I can’t wait to hear some of this stuff.”

“I can’t wait for you to come visit after Christmas.” His voice turns wistful, and you sigh in response.

“I am *so* looking forward to it, Andy, believe me. I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah.” 

From the way his voice deepens, you can tell he’s thinking about the same thing you are--sleeping in his bed, cuddling, making out, and mad passionate sex. But a phone call on Thanksgiving is *not* the ideal occasion for experimenting with phone sex.

A childish voice shrieks your name and you jump, a little. “I’ve got to go, honey--no dessert unless everyone is at the table. I’ll think of you while I’m eating my sweet, delicious desserts.” You lick your lips wetly, loud enough to be heard, and get an answering groan.

“All right, love. If you want to give me a call later, go on, don’t worry about the time. Enjoy the rest of your holiday.”

“Thanks, Andrew. Love you.”

“Love you too. Ta.”

You’re back at the table with a mouthful of cake and a cup of good coffee in your hand before you realize that’s the first time the two of you had said “love you”. Oh. Now is not a good time to cry, but you make an excuse to run to the kitchen so you can wipe your eyes.

He loves you. You love him. You’ll see him after Christmas.

You're thankful.


End file.
